


What A Peculiar State We're In

by foxtales



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Magical Realism, Shapeshifting, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales/pseuds/foxtales
Summary: “Thank you for your help, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, tipping his hat.“It was a genuine pleasure,” Sherlock said, even as the feeling of taking on another shape still itched underneath his skin.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: What If? AU Challenge





	What A Peculiar State We're In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Halloween prompt of "Shape Shifters". 
> 
> Title from the oneRepublic song, "Au Revoir".

When John got home, Mrs. Hudson poked her head out of her door.

“Sherlock is in a terrible strop, dear.” As if to underscore her words, Sherlock stomped across the floor on his way from the bathroom or his bedroom toward the kitchen.

His eyebrows rose. “Any idea why?” 

Mrs. Hudson snorted. “I didn’t ask.”

Upstairs, there was a loud crash. John rolled his eyes. “I suppose I’m being summoned. Don’t worry, it’ll get sorted. Night, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Good luck, dear.”

She withdrew and shut the door, and John sighed and climbed the stairs, letting himself into their flat. Sherlock was at his microscope, staring intently at some sample, so John said nothing and headed to the loo. Sometimes just having another presence in the flat was enough to settle Sherlock and other times John shrugged tonnes of bullshit off as Sherlock raged in cold, biting scorn at whatever had the temerity to change his surroundings or plans. 

A few minutes later, he wandered back out to find Sherlock had flung himself on the sofa on his side, facing the back so he diverted to the kitchen. “I’m making a cuppa, do you want one?” 

Sherlock sniffed dismissively and John shrugged, getting two mugs down. The flat was quiet in between the annoyed noises Sherlock made from his sullen position on the sofa. John smiled to himself as he gave nothing for his friend to push back against, feeling the tension ratchet up rather than calm. When the tea was steeped and properly doctored, he took both mugs to the living, setting Sherlock’s on the table, and holding his as he sank into his chair. 

“Drink some tea,” he ordered.

Sherlock stiffened, but a few seconds later sighed, long and deep, his offence at being ordered around clearly conveyed. John barely kept from laughing, couldn’t stop the smirk a moment later when Sherlock heaved himself upright, glaring down at the mug as if it were the centre of all his indignance. 

“Drink it.”

John blinked as Sherlock started melting, becoming smaller as he morphed back into Jim Moriarty in the messiest, most appalling way possible. 

“Terribly sorry about this,” Jim said, waving his hand vaguely at the mess he’d left on the sofa and obviously not the slightest bit sorry.

“Furniture can be replaced.”

“So practical, Dr. Watson.”

John smirked again, taking a sip of his tea. 

“You somehow discovered my subterfuge, so you must also know what I’m here for.”

“I do. It’s not here. Never was. Sherlock is smarter than that.”

“He is prone to random acts of foolishness and sentimentality these days, and that’s all down to you, Doctor, so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise to find he’d gone with the simplest action and kept it close to home as it were.”

“It isn’t here,” John repeated.

“You’re hiding something Johnny boy, what is it? Tell your Uncle Jimmy before he cuts out your tongue.”

“So, what, you cut out my tongue and I never speak again. You still don’t have what you want.”

Moriarty’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I’ll mail it to Sherlock. Do you think he’d give me what’s mine at that point?”

“What’s yours.” John shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work, _Uncle Jimmy_.”

“That page was stolen from my family’s book of magic!”

“A book which your family stole from the Holmeses generations ago,” John sneered. “How could you _possibly_ have thought that wasn’t noted? You disappoint me.”

“We didn’t really care. Still don’t. Now. Give. Me. My. Spell.”

John tilted his head a little, as if giving due consideration. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“So you do have it.”

“I don’t have it.” John took another sip of his tea, stood and set his cup on the table. “John does.” A shudder passed over him and he began to get taller, more slender, and a few seconds later, Sherlock smirked down at Moriarty. “You do realise there’s no statute of limitation on nicking royal property, right, _Uncle Jimmy_?”

Moriarty began an incantation, but Sherlock was quicker with his silencing and binding spell, and his enemy was now lying across the sofa, rage burning in his dark eyes as Lestrade and Mycroft came in to take custody.

Mycroft looked down at him, lip curling in dislike. “Thank you for admitting your family’s criminal disrespect against mine. You stayed ahead of us for many years, but no more.” He cast a stasis spell that would allow for trouble free transport.

“Thank you for your help, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, tipping his hat.

“It was a genuine pleasure,” Sherlock said, even as the feeling of taking on another shape still itched underneath his skin.

Mycroft smirked, knowing exactly what Sherlock was feeling right now. “Yes, we truly appreciate your assistance. I’ll keep you apprised. Good night, brother mine.”


End file.
